Skip to main content

Laundry. Depression. Laundry.

I brought a load of whites up from the basement just now. This might not seem like much to you but trust me, it's significant. I don't do laundry. Not for years. Oh, I'll fold laundry when it's laid before me, sure. And I've put the odd load on when it's vitally necessary, but generally this is my husband's forte. I cook, bake, clean the kitchen, do the bills and most of the grocery shopping. Dear sainted husband separates the whites from the colors, adds the detergent and makes sure the lint trap is cleaned. He keeps us clothed. Just me and him, because the three kids still at home do their own laundry. At least we taught them that much.

I'm depressed. No surprise there, at least not for me. I've battled this monster for years. Have I kept it well hidden from the rest of my world? Perhaps. Or perhaps not as well as I believe I have. I suppose I'm what you could call a functioning depressive? I know there are functioning alcoholics, functioning heroin addicts, functioning Republicans and Democrats. The problem is that you can only function so long with a mental illness, an addiction or the belief that yours is the only candidate to save the world.

I first went on antidepressants after my friend died from colon cancer. We were both young mothers. Our daughters were born days apart, we both gave birth to sons. While I recovered from my c-section, she never did. I began to have panic attacks, I'd run inside my house or frantically pace the dark street in front of my house in the night trying to suck oxygen into my dying self. Each night I was absolutely certain I was dying. Insomnia and small babies do not mix well. My physician at the time put me on Valium. Several times a day. One morning in church I was unable to remember the name of the man speaking from the pulpit. I knew that I knew him. I'd know him since I was a young girl. What was his name? I went home and dumped the remaining bottle of pills down the toilet.

After trying different antidepressants I found one that seemed to help. I stayed on it for a few years then tapered off and stopped. I was still depressed. I went back on antidepressants the first time my daughter tried to kill herself. I've been on them for three more suicide attempts, a few job losses, two moves, deaths of two more friends, a heroin addicted child and so much more. I do not have it worse than others. I do not have it better. It's just life. I threw myself a weekend pity party's after I lost my job last month. It was the only reason I got out of bed most days and poof it was gone. it hurt because I erroneously believed that these people were my friends. I loved my job. I was very, very good at it. Helping homeless students gave me purpose, broke my heart and caused me to count my blessings. They are making my position full time and adding more budgetary duties to it making it a few levels higher in the union. This means I can apply for it, which I am, but that doesn't mean I'll get it. I think perhaps my seven years of telling them this position needed more hours did not please the powers-that -be. But I digress.

Depression. I gots it. Today I am more down than usual. I've taken two hydrocodone due to a failing tooth. It's not helping with my I-don't-feel-like-adulting-today.

Where was I. Oh yeah, laundry. I'm about to fold it.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Poem to an Abusive Man

I've been doing a bit of research on abuse, domestic violence and how it usually ends. It's not pretty and it's painful and I hurt every time I read another woman's tale of horror.

Did you know that emotional abuse is as detrimental as physical abuse? And that most emotional abusers continue on to become physical abusers? I didn't. I do now. I found a site where formerly abused women, on the path to recovery from their abusers, have written poems. This one below is one that haunted me.

Thank You

You wooed me with poetry
I bit on the hook
Had I only first read
The name of the book

I would have avoided
The very first page
For pages kept turning
Revealing the rage

The ups were a great high
The ride was a bash
But I rode with my eyes closed
To avoid seeing the crash
I knew it would come soon
But I never knew when
The rage and the leaving
And the path to the end

You had to control things
Determined you would
Emotionally destroying me
Every way that you could

I'll Love You Forever, I'll Like You For Always...

I rely on the kindness of strangers...

Or not so much strangers as readers of my miserable blog.

I received a beautiful card in the mail from my long-tine reader (perhaps my ONLY reader) that lifted my heart. Thank you, G. Parkes. It was kind of you to think of me. Seriously---you are so sweet. Thank you.

Perhaps we can meet in person one day. I'll be in Utah after Conference. We'll see how it goes.

I've been caring for my autistic grandson since July. It seems longer sometimes---and that's not a complaint. I adore this little man. He holds my heart. He fills my arms and my heart in the way that my own small babies used to do. When mine reached the age where they didn't want to be in my arms any longer, I felt their absence. Their absence from my arms was heavier than actually having them in my arms. It was an ache that is difficult to describe, a phantom pain where something once was but now is no longer.

Before my husband and I went to the cabin th…

I'm Sick. And the election isn't helping.

I spoke too soon about feeling better. My grandson was delightful enough to share his virus with me, so I've spent the past five days losing everything from both ends. It hasn't been pretty.

As a weight loss program though...

At least one end of me has stopped spewing. Now I wait for the other end to stop pretending to be filled with hot lava and erupting without much notice. Sorry, this is what is called over-sharing. Apparently I'm very good at it. You're welcome.

Last night I walked around the block with hubby and our adorable puppy. It was the first time I've been out of the house in five days. It was lovely, even though I was very shaky. Today I actually tried to accomplish something. I sat at my jewelry table, moved my seaglass around. Picked up pieces and played them through my hands. Such beautfy that came from something considered useless garbage and tossed away. I love my sea glass. It gives me the happies.

I also had a severe case of J…